


Sweet Taste of Revenge

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-21
Updated: 1999-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Revenge doesn't quite taste sweet enough.
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder
Collections: TER/MA





	Sweet Taste of Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> DISCLAIMERS: Both Mulder and Krycek belong to Chris Carter, much to my disgust. NOTES: No beta + no sleep. Did I mention I was drugged? ""SPOILERS: Hints at Terma Not Beta Read""

  
**Sweet Taste of Revenge  
by Fleur**

  
It's that time of night which is a transition between light and darkness. Dusk, twilight, whatever you want to call it. The air isn't cold—but I'm shivering under my suit. I'm sure it's internal. My core is cold, everything chilled in an instant by the sight of him. 

I don't know why I feel like this around him. He stands on the corner of a street, signalling for a cab. I don't think he's seen me yet. 

It's a twist of fate that I see him here. Seattle. I'm here helping out on a case. God knows why. The Seattle PD requested someone—apparently they've recently lost their best profiler—and Skinner sent me. I don't appreciate it. 

Krycek stands there, right hand holding his leather jacket by the lapels, around his torso. He glances around, apparently nervous. The evening breeze ruffles his hair a little. 

My hand moves instinctively under my trenchcoat, taking my gun. I mentally remind myself not to drop it, and walk towards Krycek, head down. 

When I'm directly behind him, I look up. He still hasn't noticed me. His stance is closed, but he doesn't look suspicious. 

I press the gun up into the small of his back, and step up to put my arm around his neck. "Don't move." 

I can feel a tremor go through him, and his body's struggle to control it. "Mulder? What the..." 

That familiar emotion runs through me, and I yank back, dragging Krycek off balance. He stumbles, and I pull him up again, keeping my gun on him. "What are you doing here, Krycek?" 

"What are you doing here?" he replies. 

Glancing around, I keep my anger in check. "Nothing that has anything to do with you." 

I notice the strange glances we're getting from passers-by, and glare at him. "Turn around." 

"Are you arresting me?" 

"Just turn around." 

Krycek does, and I shove the gun in his back. He stumbles a little. "Walk." Deciding not to argue with me, he does, although I can see in the way he handles himself that he's only doing it because he doesn't want to attract attention. 

Around the corner, I've parked my rental car. I reach past Krycek, and unlock the door. "Get in." 

He does so. I wonder about the reason for this obedience, this subordination. As he simply looks ahead, I go around to the other side of the car and get in. What am I doing? Why? 

My car keys are in my pocket, and I take them out, sliding them into the ignition. I don't turn them. "Why are you doing this, Krycek?" 

"Doing what." He states it flatly as opposed to asking. 

"Going along with me." 

"I don't want to disillusion you. This way, you can go on thinking that you'd shoot me if I didn't." Krycek, disinterested, looks out the window. 

"I would have," I say, turning the key. The engine turns over, spluttering in protest. This isn't the best car I've ever had. "I still could." 

"Keep telling yourself that," he says, staring blankly. 

I drive without speaking, until we pull up at the house I'm staying in. Skinner didn't want me to stay in a hotel, instead opting for a house. I don't know who it belongs to. I have a feeling I'm in it because of my history of expense accounts. 

The streetlights are on, casting dim shadows across the street and lawn. Krycek gets out of the car, looking around. "You live here?" 

"You know I don't," I reply. "But you're coming inside." 

"Really." Again, it's a flat statement. I come around to his side of the car, grabbing the man by the collar of his jacket. We go inside, and I shove him so he sprawls into the living room. "What are you going to do to me, Mulder?" 

Krycek's voice is shaking a little. I point my gun at him. "I don't know. Shoot you like you shot my father comes to mind." 

"You can't kill me," he sounds bored. "I'm already dead." 

"Shut up," I tell him. "I'm not in the mood to be mindfucked." 

"I wouldn't try to mindfuck a psychologist. But you can't kill me. It wouldn't accomplish anything." 

"I don't care," I reply. I step forward and bend down, grabbing Krycek by his jacket again. I hear him exhale sharply, and I shove him against the wall. "Stay there." 

He turns his head. "What..." 

"Don't you dare speak." I take out my handcuffs, and snap them onto his wrists. Leaving his hands in front of him, I spin him around. "Undo your fly." 

"What?" 

I hit him backhanded across his face. "Do it." 

Deciding it's better to do as I say, Krycek struggles to undo the top button. "Fuck you." 

"Use your other hand," I suggest, glaring at him. 

He doesn't bother utilising that suggestion, instead keeping at it. Eventually, the zip's down, his jeans hanging open. He's wearing black briefs. 

I reach forward, and take the jeans by the waistband, yanking them down. I then do nothing, and there's silence. I rear back and punch Krycek in the stomach. He doubles over, grunting. I yank him back up. I shove him into the wall. "Don't make this harder than it has to be." I stand back, and look him up and down. "Excuse the pun." 

I hate this man. He's betrayed me so many times. Killed my father, and numerous others. I turn him around roughly, shoving him into the wall. In contrast to that movement, I gently run a finger under the waistband of his briefs, taking them down his smooth thighs bit by bit. Once they're at his knees, I stop. I turn my attention to myself, instead. 

Stepping back from Krycek, whose half-naked form is illuminated by the streetlights coming through the windows, I shrug my trenchcoat off. Then I remove my belt, and open my pants. I slide trousers and underwear down my legs, until I'm adequately exposed. Then I bring my hand down to cradle my cock, stroking. 

Before long, I am erect, helped by thoughts of the sweetness of revenge. I step back towards Krycek, who knows from the elements of the situation, what I'm going to do. I hear him bang his head on the wall. 

Pre-cum is slowly coming out of the head of my cock, and I wipe my hand over it, feeling the heat. I bring my hand around, in front of Krycek's face. "Lick it." 

He turns his face away. "Fuck you." 

"Lick it," I repeat, as if it's an order. Using my other hand, I grab his face and turn it. I hold the hand with the pre-cum at his mouth, and after a minute, his tongue snakes out onto my palm, and licks it. "Good." 

I take both hands back, and shove him into the wall. I reach forward and spread his cheeks. Krycek brings his hands down his front, to touch himself. 

"Don't," I caution, reaching forward and tugging his hands up so they're next to his chest again. "Don't you touch. This isn't for pleasure." 

Krycek doesn't answer, and I can tell he has his face set, intent on simply bearing this. 

I move closer, and enter Krycek roughly. His tight ring of muscle contorts, and I hear his quiet, suppressed moan, probably of pain. I'm going slowly, too slowly. I move back, almost coming out of Krycek completely. Then, in one hard thrust, I enter completely again. The process completes until he's almost screaming. He's taken up biting down on the index finger on his left hand to stop it, and I wonder about the pain. Eventually, I come inside him, and collapse against his back. Revenge is sweet. 

I withdraw my cock, and stand back. I pull my briefs and pants up, over my gradually dying erection, and do them up. I don't feel satisfied. 

Revenge may be sweet, but this sort of revenge... 

I liked it. 

That's the thing I never would have expected. Krycek turns around, and I can see he's expecting me to unlock the handcuffs. Without saying word, I do. Krycek bends down and pulls his jeans up, zipping and buttoning them. I can't say a word. 

He takes the cuffs off me, and I let him. He says one word. "Again?" 

Finally, I find my voice. "You're one sick son of a bitch, Krycek." 

"You enjoyed it," he says. 

How can he read me like that? 

"Do you feel better, now? Feel like the death of your father's avenged? Satisfied, Mulder? Or do you just feel longing?" 

I don't reply. 

"Welcome to my world," Krycek says, and turns, walking out the door. I allow him to go. 

The End

* * *

21/2/99   
RATING: NC-17, M/K.   
SPOILERS: Hints at Terma   
SUMMARY: Revenge doesn't quite taste sweet enough.   
Feedback: [email removed] or [email removed]   
DISCLAIMERS: Both Mulder and Krycek belong to Chris Carter, much to my disgust.   
NOTES: No beta + no sleep. Did I mention I was drugged?   
---


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